


Blue Dress

by quagsirechannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen, Gender Issues, Non-Fetishistic Crossdressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quagsirechannel/pseuds/quagsirechannel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is John Egbert, and you are a boy.  But sometimes you really wish you were a girl, so that everything you’re feeling would at least make some sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Dress

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea I got a long time ago that's stuck with me ever since. I wrote this a while ago and wanted to continue it, but never did. Maybe one day I'll pick it back up again.
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to write something about a cis guy crossdressing in a non-sexual way since I think it's something that doesn't get a lot of attention.
> 
> Also, if you're interested, the dress I had in mind was this one: http://data.whicdn.com/images/30399411/Camisole.Puff.Sleeve.Blue.Lolita.Dress.2d9989f217986089c0dc6483b51a41e7.image.329x432_large.jpg

Your name is John Egbert, and you are a boy. Everyone around you makes it abundantly clear that you’re a boy. Your father never misses an opportunity to tell you how proud he is of his “son”, and your best friend calls you every variation of “bro” and his “boy” under the sun. Hell, even you remind yourself that you’re a boy, that you actually like being a boy and that you’re fine with your dick and everything because you are, you really are.

But sometimes you really wish you were a girl, so that everything you’re feeling would at least make some sense.

You like looking at girls. Not in a creepy way! You just like the way they look, especially their clothes. Like the girls themselves, their clothes are soft, flowly, curvy, and elegant. They come in so many different fabrics, some that look silky smooth and others are tight and stretchy like spandex. The colors are amazing, too, so many shades of pink and yellow and baby blue that it makes your head spin. Girl clothes put your drab, standard teenage male wardrobe to shame.

Their hair and make-up are the same way. You can’t get over how a simple layer of foundation, some eyeliner, and a blow dryer can make a a face change completely. One time you went to drop Rose’s homework off at her house when she was sick, and when she answered the door of course she wasn’t done up the way she usually is. Of course she was still pretty, Rose is a very pretty girl, but the difference absolutely shocked and amazed you.

You watch all the girls walk around the classrooms and cafeteria in school, sashaying around so confidently in their pretty outfits, with their hair styled and their make-up painted on. You can’t tear your eyes away from them. Sometimes you feel like a pervert until you realize that it’s not even the girls you’re looking at, but what they’re wearing.

One day when you get home from school, you can’t stop thinking about how beautiful the girls in your school are. Even the ones who get made fun of, or think they’re not pretty, you think they’re absolutely gorgeous. You let your mind wander, closing your eyes and picturing all the outfits you saw today, sorting through your favorites and ones you hadn’t seen before, and you find yourself wishing, so desperately, that you could just try one on and be as beautiful as those girls.

Then you jerk open your eyes, deciding that that train of thought is no good, and that you need to go get some air.

You hop down the stairs and out the front door where you find your bike, then get on it and ride. You’re not sure where you’re going, but the fresh Spring air feels nice, and the peddling is sufficiently distracting you from your weird thoughts. After 15 minutes of riding, you find yourself at the local strip mall, and you figure you can afford to walk around a bit, maybe stop in somewhere and buy something nice and get something to eat. You lock up your bike and start walking down the pavement, window shopping until something catches your eye. And boy, does something ever catch your eye.

You find yourself outside of a dress shop that’s apparently going out of business, and everything in store is 70% off it’s regular price. Not only that, but there’s a gorgeous blue dress, one that’s medium length with puffy sleeves and a white, silky bow around the middle. It’s easily one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen in your life, and you stare at it with your jaw dropped, until before you can stop yourself you’re walking into the store and asking how much it is.

The cashier gives you a funny look for a split second, and you feel embarrassed heat starting to flush your cheeks. You didn’t even think about how it would sound, you were just so entranced by your desire to have that dress that your legs moved on their own and your mouth opened without your permission. Her expression softens though, and she asks if you’re buying it for your girlfriend. You dumbly nod but don’t say anything, opting to keep your mouth shut in case something you don’t want to say comes out again.

The dress is only ten dollars, and you actually gasp at how inexpensive it is. The cashier laughs and takes it off the mannequin for you, then asks if you’d like to get anything else. You look around and spot some clip-on earrings, dangly ones with blue crystals in them that match the dress, so you decide to grab them as well. She rings you up for $14.30, and you hand her a ten and a five, telling her to keep the change. Then, you bolt out of the store and leap back onto your bike, eager to get home and try this on before your dad comes home from work.

When you get home you toss your bike down on the lawn, not bothering to put it away properly, and run into the house and up the stairs to your room. You lock your door, even though there’s a good few hours before your dad gets home, but you don’t want to take any chances. You toss your bag onto your bed and rip your clothes off, letting them drop to the floor then turning to look at yourself in your full-length mirror.

You look yourself up and down, noting your anatomy. Your chest is a little on the broad side, totally flat with only a faint trace of muscle definition. You like the way it looks, but you worry about how it’ll look with the dress on, which is cut for someone much narrower than you, someone with breasts. Your eyes move down to your lower body, and you mull over what to do about your boxers. You know that they’ll poke out from under the dress when you put it on, so you decide to just slip them off rather than deal with them. When you see your penis, you’re not grossed out by it or anything. It looks right there, and you don’t wish it was gone or that you had girl parts instead or anything. Like you said, you like your dick.

Now naked, you turn to grab the dress out of the bag, and before you put it on you hold it in front of you, assessing how it will look. You hold it flush to your body, determining if it’ll actually fit or not, and when it looks like it will, you unzip the back down to where the zipper stops at the waist, then pull it over your head. You close your eyes as the dress falls over you, and you keep them closed while you reach back to pull up the zipper. It takes you a moment before you can open them, where you just breath and feel the fabric on your skin, how flowy and soft it feels, then slowly, carefully, you open your eyes.

What you see is perfect.

The dress fits like a glove, almost like it was tailor made for you despite your male figure. The hem falls right above your knees, and the skirt cinches in where it meets the top, right at your waistline, where the bow is. The front of the dress lays nice and flat against your chest, there’s no weird gapping in the fabric indicating that there should be boobs in it, and the sleeves are right at your shoulders and don’t stretch oddly at all. This dress looks perfect on you.

The look isn’t complete yet though, because you remember the earring you bought. You take them out of the bag and tear them out of the package, then clip them onto your earlobes, one by one. They’re just long enough to reach your jawline, which if you look closely you can see just the faintest bit of stubble that’s grown in since the last time you shaved, but it’s so fine that you can’t even tell it’s there unless you’re really close up. From a bit of a distance, your face looks totally smooth, and the earrings frame it beautifully.

You look yourself over in the mirror for a little, then decide that there’s still something missing. You reach under your bed and fish around, until your hand falls on top of the make-up kit Dave got you as a gag gift for Christmas last year. Everything is unopened in it, because you haven’t used it yet (or rather, you haven’t had the guts to use it), but now is the best opportunity to play around with it.

It’s a small case, containing only one tube of red lipstick, an eyeliner pencil, a tube of mascara, and a tiny pallet of blush, but that’s really all you’ll need. You feel a bit nervous as you start opening everything, worrying that you’ll mess up or do something wrong, but you think you’ve watched enough girls to know what make up is supposed to look like, so hopefully you’ll do a good job.

You turn to your mirror again and start with the blush, taking a little bit on the brush and sweeping it over your cheekbones. You can’t really see the color, so you do it again, but decide to stop there so you don’t wind up looking like Lil Cal. Moving on to the eyeliner, you have a little bit more trouble with that, especially since your hands are shaking. You carefully drag the tip on your lower lash line, trying to keep it as clean as possible, and when you asses your work you decide that you’ve actually done a pretty good job. You then grab the mascara and pull the wand out, combing it through your eyelashes and blinking. A few spots get on your eyelids, but it doesn’t look terrible. Finally, you apply the lipstick, carefully gliding it over your lower lip, then rubbing both of them together and making a kissy noise.

You grab your brush and run it through your hair, parting your hair to the side a little as the final touch, then look at yourself in the mirror.

You look beautiful. You feel beautiful. You _are_ beautiful.

You feel confident in this outfit, so pretty and comfortable, the first time you’ve ever felt that about what you’re wearing. Your normal clothes are heavy and stifling, and you really only see them as “things to keep you from being naked in public”. Half the time when you’re alone, you don’t even bother wearing them. But this…this dress, these earrings, this make-up, this is something you could get excited about wearing everyday. You feel good looking like this.

But this is a girls’ dress. These are girls’ earrings. This is girls’ makeup. You can’t wear this in public because you’ll get funny looks, you’ll get teased, maybe even worse. You can’t dress like this for school because your teachers will tell you to go home and change, your classmates will laugh at you, and your friends will think you’re weird. You can’t look like a girl, because you’re not a girl. This cold, hard realization hits you, and you sink down to your knees in front of your mirror and cry.

Your name is John Egbert, and you are a boy.

But you really, desperately want to look like a girl.


End file.
